Fallout Short Stories
by Solona Amell
Summary: Various stories from ALL games with ANY characters. Requests are welcome!
1. Trust Issues

"Okay, now I _know_ you're lying."

"I swear to you it's true. I may be a good liar, but not _that_ good."

Nora snickered as Deacon continued rambling on about various situations he'd been through; only half of them being lies. As they trudged their way through the Commonwealth, rifles strapped to their backs, he told as many stories as he could think of. Deacon always found the trips to be less unbearable when sharing a few stories. And Nora certainly had a few of her own, although _his_ were definitely more far-fetched. Which, when he thought about it, was quite an achievement considering she claimed to be two-hundred years old. He had stories about _everything;_ synths, supermutants, regular everyday assholes, non-regular non-everyday assholes, even deathclaws. She clearly didn't take them all to heart, but she still humored him with a few laughs. Not many people were willing to put up with it.

"Did I ever tell you about my time gambling in the Mojave?" He adjusted his glasses as they walked. "It ended with me waking up in the middle of the desert without any clothes-"

"Maybe another time, Deacon. I think this is the settlement we're looking for."

He blinked, staring at the hobble of a shack Nora had called a settlement. A shanty, crudely built disaster surrounded by what used to be fence that was somehow considered a home. The weirdest thing was that there was no signs of farming, or anything else for that matter. It was as if the place had been abandoned long ago. But, sure enough, an old man stood just outside the shack, waving giddily at the two of them with the cheerfulness of a Mr. Handy.

"Soooo, this is what the Minutemen sent you out here for?"

She gave a half-hearted laugh and teasingly flexed her arm. "Protect the people at a minute's notice. I guess Preston is rubbing off on me."

"Just… be careful what you sign up for."

She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but didn't pressure him into a response. Instead, she made her way over to the now flailing settler. Balding, with bright eyes and a cheerful smile, he greeted them both with an overly optimistic attitude. Deacon glanced at Nora out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she saw the same thing he did.

"You're with the Minutemen right? We could definitely use your help."

Deacon snorted at the word _we._

"That's right, what do you need?"

This time he addressed Nora specifically, giving her all the details as to what was wrong, another thing Deacon found humorous considering there was a _lot_ that could be classified in that category. And just like that, they were off again, plowing through the Commonwealth once more. The never-ending process of "protecting the people" was incredibly boring.

As soon as he was out of earshot of the old man, Deacon started up another conversation with Nora.

"Raiders?"

"Yep. Kidnapping."

"Pretty trusting of them huh?" After receiving a strange glance, he explained. "'Oh hi, I'm a random stranger and I'm hear to solve your problems!' No badge, or special hat, or even a certificate to the fan club?"

She pondered it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think there's a fan club. But yeah, that's pretty much how it goes. People are pretty desperate already, so they don't give much thought when someone says they can solve their problems."

Deacon stopped, much to her surprise. "See, that _is_ the problem. _People don't think,_ they just _trust._ Because someone out there has the ability to change things, everyone just goes with it. But what happens when all the problems are done and over with, and all that's left is a few men with a lot of power?"

Nora shook her head, her hair dipping over her eyes. "In a world like this, what are the chances of it running out of problems? And besides, the Minutemen aren't the Brotherhood. They aren't out to control the Commonwealth."

"Maybe not _now_ , but you never know what will happen in the future."

"So you're saying that every organization with any form of power above the average citizen will most likely form into a dictatorial government?"

Deacon sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that _power is evil._ People with power almost always abuse it. No matter what the cause. It's a bad idea to just blindly trust someone, like that old man did."

Nora rolled her eyes, apparently done with the conversation. They continued the track in silence, killing the occasional ghoul on the way. Deacon didn't bother to tell any more stories after that, and she didn't bother to ask either. She was clearly offended by the fact that he had insulted the Minutemen.

Finally, after what seemed to be forever, they came across an old, makeshift warehouse, perfect for raiders to hold up in. Quietly, they made their way inside to finish the job. And after shooting, hacking, and _biting_ their way through, they reached their objective.

Tied to a concrete pillar, was a woman. She was obviously older, with graying hair and laugh lines. And she was also obviously terrified, screaming as soon as Deacon entered the room. It was the first time Nora had laughed in awhile.

She snickered as the woman hurled obscenities at him. "Maybe it's because of your glasses."

"Mom always told me I had the face of a beautiful serial killer."

Rolling her eyes yet again, Nora cautiously approached the woman.

"Hey, hey, it's alright. We aren't here to hurt you."

She scoffed, kicking at Deacon's feet as he got closer. "Yeah, that's what the last assholes said." She narrowed her eyes at Nora. "What do you want?"

"Your husband sent us to help you. We're from the Minutemen."

She blinked, stopping her failed assault on Deacon for just a moment. "Husband? I'm not married…"

Deacon glanced at Nora. She scrunched her eyebrows in response, just as confused.

"A man sent us, Clint?"

She shook her head again, clearly not recognizing the name. Concerned, Nora turned back to Deacon.

"I've heard the old 'I'm not married' line more than a few times, but never in a situation like this one. There's a pretty good chance all this radiation has rotted her brain."

"I'm right here you bastard."

He shrugged, no other ideas in mind. "Let's just ask _Clint"_ He created air quotes with his fingers, "when we get back."

After clawing their way through even more raiders, they trudged back outside again, a process that both Deacon and Nora had learned to hate, and back towards the settlement. The old woman followed with hesitant steps, eyes darting in every direction.

"She's gonna try and run for it." He whispered to Nora, who eyed the woman behind them.

"What? I don't think she-"

Before she could finish her sentence, the woman darted off. Nora blinked, watching as she toppled down a hill and into a puddle of irradiated water. Deacon smiled.

"Told you so."

She sighed. "I can't wait to get this all over with. Maybe we should just let her go for now and tell Clint about it when we get there."

By the time they dragged themselves across the wasteland _again_ , the sun was already fading and Deacon would have killed for food, which was probably where his next meal coming from in the first place. Now that he and Nora had gotten on better terms again, he decided to continue telling his stories. It was good to fill the silence once again; he didn't enjoy the tension in the air.

But his stories were cut short as soon as they arrived back at the settlement. Deacon had just enough time to grab Nora's arm and pull her back behind the building before revealing herself

Her words were muffled as he quickly wrapped a hand around her mouth. "What are you doing?!"

"Shh! Stop shouting, it wont- Ah! Did you just _bite_ me?" He released his grip with a small shout. "Will you just stop and _look_?"

As he gingerly nursed his new wound, Nora peered around the edges of the shack, gawking at Clint and what Deacon assumed was his "friends". Three angry, heavily armed, and incredibly dangerous looking raiders. And they spoke to _Clint_ , oh whoever it was, in a strangely friendly tone. And Clint, much less smiley than before, chewed them out.

"I want your asses outta sight. The Minutemen's little helpers will be back any second with the woman, you can make some noise then. We don't wanna tip 'em off early, or else we'll never get the girl. Now scram."

They retreated into the house, grumbling curse words before slamming the door. Shaking his head wearily, Clint went back to his inconspicuous farming, waiting the arrival of the so called "little helpers."

Nora sighed, the third time that day, and walked away from the farm in disgust. "This is all a complete mess… I guess it's a good thing that lady ran when she had the chance. I don't think Clint intended to treat her any nicer. Probably worked for a rival gang or something like that."

Deacon nodded. "I hate to be an ass in a situation like this, but this is exactly what I was talking about. You can't trust anyone these days, no matter what they say." She shook her head in response, but he continued anyways. "Everyone is trying to spoon-feed the Brahmin shit, even the goody-two-shoes organizations like the Minutemen. _Everyone lies, so no one can be trusted."_

"That's a sad way to live Deacon."

"A sad, but _safe_ way." He smiled half heartedly, "Trust me when I say it's much better like this. I think your friend 'Clint' is the proof."

"Yeah… guess so." She let out a deep breath, gazing back at the farm. "Preston is gonna _love_ hearing about this one. I can't say this has been a golden day for me."

"Well…" Deacon smiled, adjusting his shades. "Know what always cheers me up?" He laughed at Nora's blank stare. Reaching for the rifle on his back, he started making his way back to the Settlement, loading a new round in the chamber.

"Kicking some Raider ass."


	2. Makeshift Doctor

"Ow, Moira that hurts!"

"Oops. Sorry. I never was good with needles."

The man flinched as she gently eased the injection back out of his arm. Her hands were unsteady, and he definitely felt it.

"Maybe I should just find a real doctor."

"Oh, don't be silly." Moira tossed the needle to the side and grabbed another one. "My survival guide is the whole reason you got hurt in the first place. Its only right that I patch you up myself."

She hummed a tune while grabbing the small bottle of morphine from the cluttered table. The man grumbled, but stayed put in the chair. After all that work getting into the Mirluke nest, he was surely exhausted. Moira had nearly fainted when he dragged himself through her door. The poor man was in serious pain, and she was happy to help to him get better.

Of course, Moira had absolutely no medical experience at all, but he didnt need to know that.

The man gazed at her collection of items, stopping at a bottle that looked similar to the morphine.

"What's this clear stuff?"

"Oh! Thats the new and improved Molerat repellent! This time, you inject it into the bloodstream!"

He blinked, holding the lable up to his face as Moira studied his arm for the vein.

He looked back and forth between the bottle and the needle that protruded from his arm. "Does it work?"

"Well... Sort of."

"Meaning?"

Moira avoided meeting his eyes, becoming oddly interested in the injection.

"Remember the last issue? It may have gotten worse."

"Wait, WHAT?"

Moira jumped, dropping the needle once again. The man shook his head, slapping his palm to his face.

"Moira, Molerat Repellent doesn't work if it _attracts_ them." He waited for her to scrounge for another needle to use, twirling the two bottles of liquid on the table.

"I know, I know. I'm still working on the antidote. Here"

She pulled yet another needle out of her pile of collectibles, holding it out for him to see. He rolled his eyes, setting the bottles down and giving his arm in response.

"Just give me the morphine real quick so I can get back out there.

Moira nodded, grabbing a bottle from the table and pouring it into the injection. The man watched as she gently eased it back into his arm.

Five minutes later, she was waving him out the door with a smile.

Moira turned back to her beautiful collection, organizing each of the bottles. A small, round lid caught her eye. She instantly recognized it as the lid to the morphine. But just before she plucked it off of the table to screw it back on, she stopped.

Moira blinked, staring at the bottle of morphine. The bottle that already had a lid.

Then, she turned to her head to see her Molerat Repellent, wide open and obviously used up.

"Oops."


	3. Happy Fathers Day!

Silence. Quiet and serene.

"Bam! Pow! Smash!"

'Hmm?"

"POW! POW!"

"What in the world..."

Turning away from his screen, James peered from around his desk to see inside his son's room. The sounds had stopped, but he could still see two little legs kicking back and forth off of his bed. Choosing to ignore the anomaly, he turned back to his computer to begin working again. But before he could type even a single sentence, the noises resurfaced again.

"Smack, whoosh!"

"What is he doing in there?"

This time, he left his work behind to investigate. He inched closer to his son's door, poking his head in to see. His son, sprawled out on his bed, had his nose pressed onto one of his many comic books, narrating the entire thing while he read. James sighed.

"Son?"

He flinched, nearly toppling off the bed in the process.

"Y-yeah dad?"

"Reading another one of those comic books huh?"

He grinned, plucking the comic off his bed to show his father. 'Yep! Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies! Wanna read with me?"

He placed a hand on his head, ruffling his hair. With a sympathetic smile, he set the comic book back on the bed. "Sorry kiddo, but you know I've got a lot of work to do. Being the Vault Doctor is hard work. And those sound effects of yours are a little distracting..."

"Oh..." His smile fell instantly, "I'm sorry, I-I didn't mean to be so loud. I'll be quiet, I promise!"

"I know you will, buddy. You're a good boy." With one last pat on the head, James left his son to read alone, heading back to his desk. As he typed, the noises from earlier seemed to disappear, leaving their entire home in silence. Nothing but the soft hum of the computer and the repetitive click of his keyboard could be heard. Suddenly, the sound effects didn't seem so bad, In fact, they might have even been _less_ distracting than the silence. Leaning back in his chair, James sighed.

He peered around his desk again, peeking into his son's room for the second time. He could still see his legs on the bed, but they were no longer swinging in the air. His enthusiasm had fallen pretty low.

James shook his head, leaving his work behind to sneak back into his son's room. He was still reading, but not with nearly as much passion. Now, he simply picked at the pages with little care. As James crept over his shoulder, he could just make out the words on the comic book. His son wasn't aware of his presence, sighing with his chin on his pillow. With a smile, James knelt down by the side of his bed.

"Bam! Pow! Smash!"

Blinking, he looked up in surprise as his father narrated each scene. He beamed with pure joy as together they read through the entire book, never once mentioning work. Each sound effect added to his joy, leaning on his dad with a smile. By the time they were finished, it was time for bed, and he was already tucked in.

Before sneaking back out of the room, his son jumped out from under the blankets, and wrapped his arms around his father. As they continued to hug one another, he whispered the words that kept him going each day.

"I love you dad."

* * *

Clink. Clink. Clink.

Nate watched with a sullen expression as Shaun sat in the dirt, tapping a wrench on a piece of scrap metal. His head rested in his hands as he sighed wearily. It was clear to see that Sanctuary Hills didn't have much to do for children. Hoping to bring up his moral, Nate flopped down next to his son.

"Whatcha doin' there buddy? Building something?"

He shrugged. "I was, but I don't think we have the supplies. I got bored anyways..."

"Well, I'm sure there's something else we can do for fun."

"Like what?"

"Like..." Scanning the settlement, he looked for anything that could be remotely considered fun. Avoiding the guns and ammo lying around, he walked towards their old home, hoping to find a board game that survived the blast. Almost everything left was damaged or unsalvageable, which was why Nate was shocked to stumble on an old memory.

Gently, he lifted the comic off the counter, smiling as studied the cover.

"Grognak the Barbarian and the Jungle of the Bat Babies. My favorite!"

As he trotted back to his son, Shaun watched him with a peculiar expression. He scrunched his brow as Nate dispensed the comic book onto his lap.

"Grognak the Barbarian? What is this?"

"My childhood. And now it can be yours."

He tentively touched the cover, a slight smile on his face. Nate could see the spark in his eye. No child could resist the mighty Grognak! He flopped back down to enjoy the comic book with his son. But Shaun wasn't fully convinced. He flipped through the comic book lazily, clearly not as excited as Nate was. He sighed, trying his best to give him the full Grognak experience.

"Oh Come on, It's awesome!"

"I like it! I just wish It was real... Comic books aren't the same."

Silence.

"Dad? Is something wrong?"

"Shaun, buddy wait right here!"

By the time he had sprinted back to the house, his friends had started to take notice. Both Valentine and Piper stood by Shaun, watching as Nate disappeared behind the door. They continued to wait, but he never came back out the door. Eventually, they came to him.

"Dad?" He knocked hesitantly on the door. "Are you still in there?"

"My name is not dad..."

He blinked. "What?"

The door burst open, revealing a humorous and quite strange sight. Shaun gawked, as both Valentine and Piper toppled to the floor with laughter.

Wearing nothing but a tattered green skirt and a brown studded belt, Nate charged out the door, waving an imaginary axe in the air with pride. With a giant grin spread across his face, he shouted in a dramatic tone, causing the entire settlement to stare.

"I am not your father, I am GROGNAK THE BARBARIAN! RAHHHH!"

He puffed out his chest, only to choke on his own laughter made tears. Shaun seemed torn between humor and shock, his eyes wide. Nate on the other hand, was having quite a lot of fun. When he finally got his bearings, he went back inside and came out with even more clothes. Pulling a hat out of his pile, he replaced Valentine's old one with the new slick, black version.

"But even I, Grognak the Barbarian need help battling the monsters of the Commonwealth! Silver Shroud, let us fight together!"

Valentine chucked, tilting his new accessory. "I'm not sure how good of a sidekick I'd be, but I'd fight the entire world for ya."

"Yeah," Piper smiled, prodding at Nate's bare arm. "Just say the word, and we'll all come running."

"In that case..." He pulled a feathered headband from out of his handful. "Introducing the Mistress of Mystery! Bum Bum BUM! The Unstoppables are here to save the day!"

Dragging both companions by the arm, he circled around Shaun, fighting invisible enemies and dodging dangerous obstacles. His son joined in soon after, sometimes as another superhero, other times as a patron in need. By the time the sun had set, Both Piper and Valentine had called it a day, and only Nate and Shaun were left, laying in their front yard with their eyes gazing at the stars.

"So. The comic book a little more exciting now?"

"You bet."

"Glad to see my son smile, but I don't think I can wear this skirt much longer. I don't think the Minutemen would take me serious with this thing on." He laughed. "I definitely don't look like a superhero."

"Not all heroes wear costumes, dad."

He smiled, reaching to hug his son. "That's my boy."

Finally, after a little while longer of talking, they went back inside and crawled into bed. But before Nate went to his own room, Shaun grabbed at his arm. With as much force as he could muster, he embraced his father in a hug, smiling.

"Thanks for everything dad, I love you."

* * *

 **Author's Note:**  
 **Hello everyone and Happy Fathers Day! (I published this a day late, sorry) I hope you enjoyed!**

 **Although these two short stories are pretty horribly written, I wanted to do something special for the holiday. So I decided to honor the two best dads in all of the Wasteland, as well as honor the best comic book of all time!**

 **So for all of you Fallout fathers who fought your way through the Commonwealth to save your child, this chapter is for you! I hope you pass on the joy of Grognak the Barbarian to your child as well!**


	4. Past Valentine

"Welcome home!"

She stood in the doorway, her platinum curls shinning and her blue eyes bright. The most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on. Jenny smiled as he walked in, taking his coat from his shoulders and gently placing it on the rack. He smiled back, lightly kissing her on the check. After lifting his hat, revealing a mess of hair, he placed it with his coat and embraced his fiancé. It was good to be home.

"Well aren't you a sight for sore eyes. Hope you haven't been waiting long."

She smiled with genuine care, as always. "I know being the best detective in town can be busy work."

With a light kiss on the lips, they made their way towards the kitchen, sitting down to a homemade dinner. Jenny herself had cooked just for the two of them; Saddle up Salisbury Steak, Insta-Mash, and fresh corn. Sitting across from one another, they chewed their food and made idle small talk.

"Things still tense at the office?"

"Yeah, our current case has gotten a little complicated."

"You work too hard, dear."

They ate in silence for the rest of the time, blissful and at peace with one another. They had become comfortable with each other's company, love and joy always present between them. Nick couldn't think of a life without Jennifer in it. She had a heart of gold, brightening everything she touched. And soon, they'd finally be married.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Jenny dropped their plates into the sink, turning back to Nick with a curious expression. "Remember the Institute of Technology? They sent another letter, something about a new project they're working on."

"Oh yeah, they asked me to be one of the test subjects. Gonna try and copy me into a robot or something..."

"A robot? Well that's certainly news. Are you going for it?"

"Haven't decided."

Jenny pondered for a moment, swirling her hands in the soapy water. As Nick got up to take her place with the dishes, she sat down in his chair, contemplating.

"Well, a robot or not, I'd still love you. Even if you were a Mr. Handy."

Nick laughed in response, smiling from ear to ear. "You're a wonderful woman, Jennifer Lands. And let me tell you, if I turn into a robot, I'll still love you too. But damn if I'm gonna become a Mr. Handy."

She grinned, kissing his check. "We can talk about your new metal body later. It's time for the great detective to get some sleep."

They crawled into bed, ready for yet another day tomorrow. As Jenny wrapped herself up in the blankets, Nick settled on a midnight read, plucking a book from off the nightstand. But as he opened the pages, a small folded paper fell out. Blinking in response, he quietly opened the slip without waking his fiancé. Squinting to see, he read the small script across the page, recognizing it from his work.

It was a dossier for a criminal; a man named Eddie Winters. Nick hadn't realized he had taken his work home with him. He read the name over and over, feeling as if he should know who it belonged to. But his mind drew a blank, leaving him confused as to why it was here in front of him now.

Jenny screamed.

As soon as her shriek had reached his ears, Nick was out of the bed and by her side, pure adrenaline running through him. Her body was deathly still, face down on her side of the bed. His chest constricted, knowing before he even lifted her body that she wasn't breathing. Even as he held her in his arms, he felt the life seeping away. His eyes darted towards the door to their bedroom, resting on the stranger that stood inside it. His vision began to waver, filled with both tears and anger. She was dead, and it was all because of him.

Eddie Winters.

"Nick. Nick, wake up!"

Jolting awake, Nick glanced around him, expecting to see Jenny in front of him. Instead, it was his assistant Ellie, staring him down with a serious expression. She sighed wearily, flicking through the many papers spread across his desk. Exausted, he rubbed the remains of his hand against his face, remembering he was still sitting in his office. Ellie shook her head.

"You know you shouldn't sleep at your desk, it's a bad habit."

"Yeah, I know... must of fallen asleep while working."

"Well, maybe you should take a break for a while." She tossed the now neatly stacked papers back down. "It'll do you some good to relax a little."

"Mhm. Thanks Ellie, I appreciate it."

She smiled, giving him a light pat on the back before walking away to do her own business. Forcing himself to forget the dream and get back to work, Nick sat forward in his chair. They both knew very well that he wouldn't be taking a break any time soon. He _couldn't._ Not with so much still left to do.

His eyes rested on the stack of papers Ellie had fixed. he gingerly picked up the one on top, staring at the words on the page for what seemed the millionth time. The name printed was one he'd never forget for as long as he lived. Eddie Winters would pay.

 _Robot or not, I'd still love you._

Nick smiled, glad to see her face again, even if it was nothing but a dream. He spoke softly, speaking to know one but himself.

"I still love you too, Jenny. And I always will..."


	5. War Never Changes

"War never changes."

Nate spoke the words to no one but himself, staring into the brown eyes of his own reflection. He caught a glimpse of Nora's smile as she passed by the bathroom door, looking rather amused by his rambling. Smiling back, he pushed away from the sink, jumping into his daily routine of coffee and the paper, Codsworth's bubbly frame sliding in and out of the room as he did his own rounds of the day. Their peaceful little home in Sanctuary Hills.

The soft murmers of Nora's voice was pleasing to hear, just barely audible as she cooed to Shaun in his crib from the back of the house. Nate smiled yet again, then turned to the paper. He scanned the pages idly, glossing over local news and weather reports until he reached a small article in the back.

 _Nuclear War Imminent. Casualties Innevitable._

"War never changes..."

"You're quite fond of that phrase, huh?"

Nora smirked from across the kitchen, Shaun all bundled up in her arms. She pushed a loose curl lazily from her face as she watched Nate press his eyes into the page. She always found his mumbling to be amusing.

"War never changes?"

He smiled sadly. "Never." His time at war had taught him that.

"Well I beg to differ." She smiled, positioning their sleeping child in her arms. "The people change, the weapons, the location.."

Nora was prodding him. Nate had learned early on that his wife had quite the mind. She always knew how to read his mind. At the moment she was simply playing ignorant to get him to share what was on his mind. He liked that about her.

"But the reasons, the causes, and the results never change do they?" Nate gently took Shaun into his arms, smiling at Codsworth kindly as he hovered around the couple to start laundry.

Nora hummed as she thought. "So what made you think of it now?"

She offered her hand, to which Nate presented the newspaper. Nora scanned it, stopping on the same article as he had.

"Casualties."

"Bingo."

She pondered for a moment, eyeing the paper, then Nate, and then Shaun. Nora had never witnessed war, not firsthand. But Nate's experiences still followed him home, and she understood more than most. Her eyes studied her husband yet again, ready to hear more.

He spoke matter of fact like. "There are always casualties in war. Injuries. Deaths. Sometimes it's the soldier that dies, sometimes it's civilians..."

"And sometimes it's the people who are still living who feel dead inside."

Her words left Nate thinking. Of his parents, his wife, his child. A lot of people waiting to see him again. How bad would it hurt if he didn't come back?

Nora read his mind yet again. She smiled sweetly, setting the paper aside. "We're proud of you honey. And no matter what we do, no matter how hard, we do it for family."

Feeling a surge of sympathy, Nate embraced her. He was home with his family, and nothing would change that now. Planting a kiss on both his wife and his child, he brought his arms around them both, protecting them with all he had, feeling Nora snuggle into the hug. Holding on for just a few more seconds, he looked down to meet her eyes. She smiled.

"Bye Honey! We love you!"

Nate blinked, lost in the words. "What?"

And suddenly the world went black, crashing down into pieces. He felt Nora slip from his arms, Shaun fading with her. Their home began to wither and die, bright walls becoming faded with ash and grime, and the memory of so long ago drifting away.

Nate opened his eyes, feeling his cheek rested against the cold, chalky ground of what's left of the kitchen floor. He adjusted to the new environment, Sanctuary Hills after the Nuclear Fallout. All that was left after waking from the vault two hundred years later. Nora and Shaun were gone. Their home was gone. His entire life was gone. He had nothing.

Except for a Holotape, playing on repeat through his Pipboy as he slept.

The tape screetched for a moment, and Nate felt his throat tighten as Nora's voice filled his ears. "Oopsie. Ha ha ha. No, no, no. Little fingers away. There we go. Just say it. Right there. Right there. Go ahead." Nate could hear the soft murmers of Shaun, gurgling away, just slightly off from forming the words.

"Ha ha! Yay! Hi honey! Listen... I don't think Shaun and I need to tell you how great of a father you are... but we're going to anyway. You are kind, and loving," Her voice was covered by Shaun's laughter," ... and funny! Ha ha. That's right. And patient. So patient. Patience of a saint, my mom used to say."

There was a small pause. "Look, with Shaun, and us all being at home together... It's been an amazing year. But even so, I know our best days are yet to come. There will be changes, sure. Things we'll need to adjust to. You'll rejoin the civilian workforce, I'll shake the dust off my law degree..."

"But everything we do, no matter how hard... we do it for our family."

"Now say goodbye, Shaun... Bye bye? Say bye bye?" Another giggle from Shaun, followed by Nora's laughter as well.

"Bye honey! We love you!"

The tape clicked off again, leaving him alone with silence. Holding his Pipboy close, he started to sob. Tears shed for his wife, for his son, and for the casualties of the war. Sometimes people died... And sometimes the one's left behind start to die inside... And Nate was all that's left. Alone.

There was no one around to hear the words, but he spoke them anyways, echoing in the silence.

"War never changes."


	6. Dreams

"James, this is ridiculous."

"It's my choice Madison. Not yours."

"Just listen to me."

"I have, and this is what I've decided to do. We've been over this."

"James wait. Do you honestly think this is what Catherine would want?"

She had drawn the line. James stared with cold eyes, but they were filled with agony. Holding the bundle tight to his chest, he walked away, leaving Dr. Li alone in her lab. Alone with their years of research. Alone with the memories. Alone with their dreams.

James was no longer apart of it.

A sigh left her lips, her body falling gently against the wall. The aching weariness and fatigue of age settling into her. The lab was littered with glass and wires, broken equipment that had been strung around in fits of rage, most of the heat directed at James. The news of his escape traveled fast, his choice to leave Project Purity behind. To give his child a better start. The son that had brought the death of Catherine, and the abandonment of their very dreams. This was all that's left of Project Purity.

They didn't have to stay. Most of the scientists had other research or ways to conduct their time. They had lives outside of the confined lab. They had a reason to continue on. All except for Dr. Li.

She had put her very existence into her work. She had stood beside Catherine and James, working days on end to make it work. To accomplish their dream. A dream that she had now lost.

Catherine was dead.

James is gone.

And Madison was all that was left.

Lifting her head gently, she studied the remains of her work. Books and equipment were still strewn about in a disarranged mess, but she stood anyway. With heavy steps, she gazed at the lab in a daze. Medical knives and tools left lying on the tables, chemicals open and exposed, the medical screen with the familiar face...

Dr. Li stopped to gaze at the screen. Dark hair and intelligent eyes, a grown man that was soon to be. His face, Her smile. His child. Her killer.

This was the reason Catherine was dead. This was the reason James had run. This was the reason she had nothing left but a broken dream. This child.

Madison pushed the screen, letting it shatter on impact. With spiteful eyes, she watched the glass litter across the floor, cold bitterness settling in.

She never wanted to see his face again.

 _Authors Note: Writing Requests are being worked on, thank you all for the support!_


	7. Orders

Silent. All the time.

She couldn't help eyeing the flesh-ridden man as they walked, Deep set eyes tinted blue that refused to meet hers, uninterested and pointed straight ahead as if unaware that she was looking. Stiff and rigid, he did nothing but stay on guard, giving himself inhuman properties that made him more agreeable with robots than with people. She had never met a ghoul until recently, but even he seemed to be his own article to the world. He might have been a handsome man once, but those once attractively stoic features had been torn from both radiation and wear, leaving a gruesome scene behind. He was a curious oddity.

Her vision turned from his face back to corridor ahead of her, making their way through the building. Their steps echoed lightly on the filth covered marble floors as they crept through the dimly lit halls. It was the only sound for that matter, for Charon was as quiet as he was intimidating. Their journey to D.C. was one of simple command; to slay the mutants and find any data for keeping. She had hoped that, with a more experienced wastelander, the D.C. ruins would stand less treacherous than before. And while she was thrilled for a companion to aid her in her travels, she had been less inclined to take the Ghoul after being witness to his assault on the bartender back in Underworld.

Charon, on the other hand, saw little wrong with traveling with her. Or, if he did, he never spoke up about it, taking little interest in anything but her orders. When given a demand, he mumbled monotonously. When asked to speak, he simply grunted. He gave no indication of any emotions at all, but something told her that if he disapprove of her actions, he'd let her know with a bullet to the head. And so the Lone Wanderer chose to take the silence as a compliment and continued on. Although her interest in the Ghoul never faded. She'd often gawk at him behind horrid excuses; adjusting her rifle as she peered behind her, calling attention to innate and less than stimulating objects in the horizon to catch his eyes, and dropping food and other necessities to have him kindly retrieve them for her as she tried desperately to have a glimpse. She felt confident that the Ghoul knew of her intentions, but as he spoke little, he didn't call her out on such foolish games, and so their little game continued.

She was about to try another, when a familiar gravelly voice caught her by surprise.

"Wait."

Charon had taken the liberty to step in front of her, shotgun held low. She followed his eyes towards the forward facing wall, and above, stood a rather large balcony, tattered and decaying like everything else. Nothing stood upon it, but the soft echo of laughter could still be heard. Charon looked down at her.

"We aren't alone here."

She squinted at the balcony yet again, but there was no indication of life above. "Who would take refuge in the museum? It's covered in mutants."

He gave a solid shrug, a movement so casual that the Lone Wanderer found it strange to see on his stiff appearance. She hesitated for only a moment before trudging onward, into the doorway ahead.

"Well we came here to clear out the muties. Might be something else to clear out now," she gave her pistol a satisfied pat from her side, taking the chance to look at Charon in the eyes again, "Coming?"

He grumbled, following her steps while still holding his shotgun high. The doorway lead to a few paper ridden halls connected with shambled offices, all of which once had supermutants. But their corpses lied still, and someone had already picked them clean of valuables. She stopped to take a look at the wounds in curiosity. Most were bullet holes, but there was blunt trauma as well. Clearly they were dealing with a group.

Their track ended with two separate halls, both with their own path, and both too dim to examine their ends. Contemplating, she gave another quick glance to Charon, happy for the excuse to study him.

"We should split, examine each end."

Charon grumbled.

"Thought you might say that.."

She pondered for only a moment before taking the left path, leaving Charon to take the right.

Although, as she walked, she realized it took very little for her to wish for his company yet again. Alone, every small shadow across the walls gave fear to her imagination. Her steps seemed much more audible without him, and she found herself feeling exposed and vulnerable to whatever malicious creature or man was still lurking in the building. But as she followed the hall, she found nothing but the swollen corpses of the dead supermutants.

 _Creak._

She stopped.

Breath quickening, she wrestled her pistol from her belt, staring down the hall.

"Charon?"

No response.

Convinced that the ghoul had not followed her into the corridor, she quickly pressed herself against the wall, alert. As she slowly made her way down the hall, she jumped from door to door, pistols raised against any attacker that stood inside. Nothing made itself known, until she had finally reached the end of the hall, along with a doorway, and small light within…

A familiar laugh echoed towards her yet again. But it was clearer now. A male, and taking a random guess, a drunk one. His voice was in a slow drawl, emphasis in all the wrong places as he bragged to his friends. Quietly, the Lone Wanderer crept to the side of the door frame, peering into the room that she now realized held the balcony from before.

"I'm telling you, Ripper is a keeper! Look at those blades."

"Nah, no way! We're running a raider gang, not a freak show! The weirdo stays out!"

"Careful there, Stitch, don't want Ripper to hear you and _rip_ you a new one!"

"Yeah! Then we might have to _stitch_ you up!"

They guffawed at the dumb remark, about four men, standing around a fire made of a debris. Grime was smeared across their faces and smeared about their clad armor, made of non-matching pieces that they had no doubt taken from their victims. They were typical, as far as raiders went. Immoral, angry, and ignorant; she had no reason to stare. It was time to leave.

Before she could turn from the corridor, a familiar click began. Taking a shocked and ragged breath, she tentatively looked down to her Pip-Boy, beeping with radiation. Not alot, but enough to cause the machine to make its metallic click.

Slowly, she looked up to see the eyes of the raiders on her.

There was indeed four, all quite surprised and quite enraged by her appearance. The one closest to her was tall, lean, and armored out to the max. He held a spiked bat on his back, covered in the dry blood of the supermutants, as he leaned against the railing. Next to him was a more muscular and dark skinned man with a coy smile and switch blade, on the ground. Across from them, was what she could only assume was a male, completely concealed in black leather, and a hockey mask to top it off. And the last of the group, staring dead ahead of her, was a man in a studded jacket with a cigarette. Holding a very large machine gun on his back. They were gathered around the fire, ripe with alcohol, before confronting their intruder.

She was petrified to move, her pistol slipping from her fingers as she tried to stop her Pip-Boy from its process. Her frantic movements gave wave to alarm, and soon, the raiders began to retrieve their own weapons.

The man with the machine gun was the first to speak. "Well, well. This is a surprise. Is that what a think it is?" he slowly made his towards her, flicking the cigarette at the floor before smearing it in. "This here, gentlemen, is what we call a Vault Dweller. See the computer?"

The dark skinned blade-holder gave a sharp laugh. "You're shitting me! That's quite a nice gadget. Bet its worth some serious caps isn't it little lady?"

The man in the mask spoke next. "Bet you've got alot more that's worth some money too don't ya?"

She tried to speak, but the tall bruiser interrupted.

"It doesn't matter what she's worth. This woman is _trespassing_. We can worry about the valuables _after_ she's dead."

His response was followed by bouts of laughter and cheers, but no one moved. Their eyes fell upon the man with the machine gun yet again, as if waiting for a command. He didn't respond to their plans, but instead looked to the Lone Wanderer yet again.

"Tell me this... You alone out here?" He continued to grind his cigarette into the floor, "D.C. is quite alot to take on for a single little Vault Dweller. Wouldn't be surprised if you had a friend somewhere."

His query was met with silence, her hands still fumbling with her pistol that slid across the ground. Giving a slight chuckle, he closed the distance between them, grabbing her wrist.

"There's no need for that."

And with that statement, he twisted, until her wrist wallowed in agony and her scream echoed the pain. He smiled, twisting harder as she scrambled to get away, keeping her anchored.

"This won't hurt for much longer. You should have known better than coming he-"

As quickly as it had started, the pain ceased, following by a shout of his own, and the sound of bone.

Charon stood behind her, the butt of his shotgun now bloodied. He had hit the man hard, releasing his hold on the Lone Wanderer and giving wave to a river of blood that poured from his nostrils. As he wrangled on the floor, Charon offered his hand. She took it gratefully, retrieving the pistol with a shaky breath. His eyes seemed to follow her figure as she composed herself, checking for signs of other injury. She gave a small but shaky smile, too shocked to take her eyes off the scene before her.

The other raiders had gathered around their injured, trying to keep the blood from pooling and attempting to pull their boss to his unsteady feet. But the man pushed them off with a brash frustration, still focused on Charon. He kept one arm pressed to his nose, the other he used to force himself off the ground. Even as he controlled his ragged breathing, his eyes never left the ghoul.

"You!" The man with the blades pointed his weapon towards Charon's face, his own expression both frantic and enraged, "Look what you did! Who the fuck do you think you ar-"

"Shut up."

His voice was cut off from the bleeding raider, his attention still directed towards Charon, eerily calm. Slowly, he lifted his arm away from his nose, his jacket damp and stained maroon.

"That, that was a good hit..." He gave a cackle that ended with an agonizing cough. "Been a long time since I've spat this much blood." The others watched as he shakily dusted himself off, oddly composed.

"You two are quite the pair. A Vault Dweller and a Zombie," he smiled coyly, "How the two of you could ever come together is beyond me. But... I think there's an even better partnership in front of you."

Silence.

They all stared; the raiders at their leader, and she and Charon as well. But his words did not sway with doubt, nor did they falter after the statement stood. He was entirely serious, and he wanted Charon to join him. As a Raider.

It seemed absurd to even question, but as the Lone Wanderer studied the ghoul, she realized her own confidence was foolish. There was nothing that would tie this man to her, nor did she have any reason to ask loyalty. She had found Charon as a bouncer, a job for hired muscle. And as soon as her offer had been laid on the table, he had no hesitation to shove his gun down the man's throat, brains bursting against the wall in a gory scene. Now, another offer was on the table. But this time, it wasn't from her, but them. And she was now the one behind the bar.

The other men adjusted quickly, their coy smiles and drunken laughs returning with bravado. "Come on now, zombie. Look at her! She's a little girl!" the man with the blades pointed with a dirty finger, shaking it wearily. "She ain't got nothin' you want."

She blanched, nearly dropping the pistol. Charon stayed composed, still no sign of emotion in his eyes.

Another man, the masked strapped to his features, spoke next. "Stick with us ghoul, and you'll have anything you want.".

"Beer, caps, women, you name it."

"And there's no one in the entire damn wasteland who'd try and stop ya..."

Their leader came close enough to lay a hand on Charon's shoulder, still bloodied and bruised. He smirked, as if the deal was already made.

"It's a good deal, ghoul. Don't make the mistake of refusing it."

The Lone Wanderer hesitated. The pistol now shook uncontrollably in her hands, desperately trying to keep hold of the only thing that could save her. Legs turning to lead, she pleaded to Charon with her eyes, her lips unable to form words. And yet, despite her crippling state, he did not move. Not in the slightest.

The man gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Just finish the job, ghoul. And then we'll find a place for you."

Slowly, Charon blinked, staring at only the man and his filthy hand resting on his shoulder. They seemed to stand that way forever, the wait becoming agonizing. Each of the raiders were grinning, so sure of their victory...

Until the shredded bullets of a shotgun pounded right through their leader, his body slamming against the wall with enough force to snap bones. The Lone Wanderer screamed, and the raiders bellowed, so focused on Charon's cold expression to notice his gun sneaking up from his side. He had pulled the trigger before anyone could utter a warning, the raider now a bleeding mass of flesh upon the floor, his machine gun ricocheting in the other direction.

It took mere seconds for fear to spread like fire, each of the remaining raiders screaming in both anger and panic. But Charon was still calm, their erratic movements only making them easier targets. Dodging the blades with a step back, he punched another wave of bullets into the man, diving from another assault with a bat. Using his own weapon, he turned the shotgun into a blunt object, smacking him hard across the temple. Both fell, lifeless and bloody, leaving all but one raider left.

But, unlike the others, the masked man had deliberately ignored Charon. Instead, he dived for the floor, retrieving the machine gun from his fallen leader. He didn't hesitate to point it at the ghoul, laughing breathlessly.

"You thought you could get me, huh? HUH! WELL I'M NOT DYING LIKE THE REST OF THEM! NOT TODA-"

The Lone Wanderer fired her pistol, cutting off his words as he slumped to the floor, dead. Just like the rest.

She sighed wearily, falling back to her knees in both exhaustion and relief. Even now, Charon said nothing, as emotionless as he was from the start. He seemed to stare at the bodies, blood staining nearly every inch of the room, along with their faces. Quietly, he closed the distance between them, and offered his hand.

She was speechless, taking his hand cautiously. He pulled her to her feet easily, eyeing her one last time for injury. As he examined her wrist, she took the chance to choke out the words that she desperately needed to know.

"Why didn't you take the deal..." her breath was raged as she spoke, "I... I don't have anything to give you."

Charon blinked. "I followed my orders."

"B-but you didn't have to. You could have joined them, they wanted you to."

"They were evil people. I have a contract."

"But you're not bound by it. You could easily go against it."

Silence. "They were evil people."

She studied his features in confused curiosity, but he was right. And as they walked, leaving the ruins behind after salvaging anything they could, she realized how truly simplistic the ghoul was. From the start she had pegged him for a man of secrets and intrigue. She watched his movements, looking for a sign that proved her right, that showed a twisted side to the man, a reason for staying by her side. But in the end, he wanted nothing more than to follow orders. He was trained to obey, and she held his contract. It was as simple as that. There was no underlying reasoning or sinister plan underneath his gaze. His purpose, which had been defined for him, was merely to serve.

She eyed Charon yet again, but this time it was through simple kindness. He was no longer a curiosity to gawk at; an oddity to behold. He was silent, but there was more to him than what he could ever speak. And as the she walked by his side, the realization had never been clearer. Charon may had been forced into contract, but it did nothing to define his loyalty. And it would do nothing to deter her loyalty to him.


End file.
